


The Fall

by Elle_Writes_4



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Falls, Dealing With Loss, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, I'm really bad at tags, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Sharing a Bed, some snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 07:47:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20254666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Writes_4/pseuds/Elle_Writes_4
Summary: Aziraphale knew that Heaven would be coming for him after the whole “body-switching” incident. He knew that Heaven, although they were supposed to be virtuous and forgiving, would never be able to swallow their pride and allow Aziraphale to remain on Earth unpunished.He had just hoped it would take longer.orWhen faced with a difficult decision from Heaven, Aziraphale decides to Fall for Crowley, and with Crowley's help, adjusts to being a demon.





	1. Chapter 1

Aziraphale knew that Heaven would be coming for him after the whole “body-switching” incident. He knew that Heaven, although they were supposed to be virtuous and forgiving, would never be able to swallow their pride and allow Aziraphale to remain on Earth unpunished.

He had just hoped it would take longer.

It had been about three months after the Not Apocalypse, three wonderful months of peace and quiet. Aziraphale didn’t have to report anything back to Heaven, and he and Crowley had been able to spend more time together without trying to hide their ‘fraternization’. They freely walked in the park, were able to call each other and make plans without having to disguise where they were going, and speak openly without worrying about who was listening. They made plans with Anathema, Newt, Adam and his friends without caring what their respective bosses would think. Within these three lovely months, Aziraphale realized just how micromanaged he had felt, feeling like he could finally breathe properly for the first time in his existence without having to fear the wrath of Heaven. Aziraphale found himself enjoying his newfound freedom, and enjoyed it all the more with Crowley at his side.

Aziraphale had been reorganizing the books on one of his shelves that some inconsiderate customer had moved around and failed to put back when he heard the bell on the door ring, signaling that someone had entered the shop. Aziraphale remembered that he had forgotten to flip the open sign to close, and though was annoyed at whoever was there, wasn’t too upset at them.

“So sorry but the shop is closed, my apologies for the inconvenience!” Aziraphale slid another book into its place, straining his ears to hear if whoever it was had left.

“Good thing we’re not here for books, Aziraphale.” A familiar voice said from the front of the bookshop.

Aziraphale froze, hand still in the process of reaching to move another book. He felt his blood run cold in his veins, dread filling into his entire being. He recognized the voice as no other than the archangel Gabriel, and knew that his visit could mean nothing good. He started to think about the possible ways he could escape; through the back door? No, they would hear him, and there was no way he could outrun them. Miracle his way out? No, they would be able to trace where he had gone, and he would be so exhausted that he wouldn’t be able to do anything else when they followed him there. He had to face them. There was no escaping this, no clever ruse to get him out of trouble this time. Aziraphale felt his feet move out of the aisle he was in, books still in his arms as he walked out.

As Aziraphale moved to face his fate, he couldn’t help but wish Crowley was there. His knees felt weak, and the collection of books in his hands seemed to weigh heavier than they had earlier. Crowley’s presence always made him feel stronger, braver, and caused him to stand a little taller in the face of adversary. Aziraphale desperately wanted to face Gabriel and whatever punishment he had in store for him without giving Gabriel the satisfaction of seeing fear written all over his face. He wanted to seem unfazed and unapologetic in the face of his executioners, even if he didn’t feel like it.

Aziraphale saw that Gabriel was not alone once he reached the front of his bookshop; he recognized Michael, Sandalphon, and two other minor angels that Aziraphale had seen around Heaven but never took the time to introduce himself. They all stood close to Gabriel, staring at Aziraphale like a lion might look at a baby gazelle. Gabriel himself wore a smug expression that contained a smile that held no kindness in them.

“Aziraphale!” He clapped his hands before continuing, “Great to see you buddy, how’s the shop going?”

“Spare me the pleasantries Gabriel, and tell me why you all are here.” Before the apocalypse, Aziraphale would have humored the attempt at small talk. After Heaven had tried to kill him, however, he found that he had little patience reserved for his fellow angels. Aziraphale wanted to get whatever they were about to do to him over, and not try to elongate the inevitable.

Gabriel’s smile seemed to falter, returning only when he said, “Well, you see we’ve got some unfinished business! After the whole failed apocalypse and failed execution, we couldn’t just leave you unsupervised! But we believe that we have the best answer in store.”

“Is that so?” Aziraphale’s voice came out smaller than he wanted to, but fear was gripping at his throat so hard it was a miracle he could get anything out.

“It’s quite a lovely arrangement, if you ask me,” Gabriel looked around at his colleagues, who all murmured in agreement, “Michael, why don’t you tell Aziraphale his choice?”

“Choice?” Aziraphale choked out before being spoken over by Michael.

“With pleasure. Principality Aziraphale, you are to either return to Heaven, where you would be permanently assigned to desk duty, or you can remain here on Earth, with a few conditions.” He looked at Aziraphale expectantly, as if he thought that was enough information for him to make a choice.

“What- what are the conditions?” Aziraphale shifted the books in his hands, readjusting them to a more comfortable position. “There’s not many,” Michael started, pulling his hands behind his back, “One would be that you would be relocated from London. From England, for that matter. You would also be prohibited from speaking to the demon Crowley ever again, and of course, would have a supervisory angel to monitor your actions. So only three.”

Aziraphale felt his heart sink to the floor. He hadn’t been expecting this, wasn’t expecting for him to have a choice in his fate. He had expected them to have discovered a new, painful way to kill him, and just like that, his existence would be over. These options felt similar to dying, though. His way of life over in an instant, never being able to have things go back to the way they were. While Gabriel was trying to veil this decision as simply needed to have Aziraphale kept closer to home, he knew that this was a punishment, a way of hurting him. If they couldn’t kill him, they would at least make his existence miserable.

Aziraphale did _not_ want to do desk duty; for the rest of eternity, he would have to sort through paperwork, monitor other angel’s activities, and make sure no one executed too many frivolous miracles. He would never be allowed to leave Heaven, never read another marvelous novel, never taste a wonderful bottle of chardonnay again, never be able to taste tea or visit his favorite café that served the best deserts.

While the first option was horrifying to think of, the second option wasn’t much better. Sure, he’d still remain on the earth that he loved and fought so hard to save, but he’d have a permanent babysitter for all time. A supervisory angel watching over everything Aziraphale did, pointing out the habits he did as unnecessary and not very becoming to an angel. He’d have to give up everything he loved regardless, always watching everyone else do the things he loved while never being able to participate.

Despite how horrifyingly terrible these options were, not being able to see Crowley again made them both unbearable. The thought in itself caused a deep ache in Aziraphale’s very soul, threatening to tear him apart if he could never see those bright yellow eyes ever again. His insides seemed to cave in on themselves as they comprehended a reality where he’d never again hear Crowley groan at one of his terrible jokes or magic tricks, never again be able to join in on his infectious laugh, never again see Crowley’s breathtaking smile plant roots on his face. More importantly, it hurt Aziraphale to realize that he’d never be able to tell him just how much he loved him.

Crowley.

No matter what way this went, Crowley would be destroyed. There had been a time where Aziraphale had thought that Crowley might be upset at his lack of existence, mildly inconvenienced since there wasn’t any other angel out there who would be willing to take his place in The Arrangement. After the whole apocalypse debacle, however, Aziraphale could easily see that Crowley truly, deeply cared for him. In what way, Aziraphale wasn’t certain, but he knew that he at least considered him to be his closest friend. Crowley himself told him on the night of the Not Apocalypse just how badly seeing his burning bookshop had affected him; he had said it had crushed him, the thought that Heaven or Hell had not only discorporated Aziraphale but killed him. Even through his sunglasses, Aziraphale could still see the remnant of fear in Crowley’s eyes, and had simply placed his hand on top of Crowley’s to reassure him that he was there, they were both there, and that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Except now Aziraphale realized that had been a lie. No matter what option he chose, Crowley would lose Aziraphale forever. Sure, he’d figure it out soon enough; he’d come by the bookshop as usual, see it vacant, and go on a full-blown panic attack. A new fear began to prick in the back of Aziraphale’s mind as he realized that if he chose to work at a desk in a cold, lifeless room in Heaven, Crowley would almost certainly storm his way in. He would push his way through the unwelcome gates, and fight like, well, _hell_ to try and rescue Aziraphale.

Regardless of Crowley’s valiant efforts, he would most definitely fail. Heaven was filled with millions of angels, all of which would love to get their hands on and kill a demon. _Especially_ the one that had played a part in preventing their ridiculous war. A deep shudder run down Aziraphale’s spine as he contemplated the notion. No, maybe it was best to choose the second option. Remain on earth, and though he’d have someone looking over his shoulder for every minute of his existence, Crowley would at least be safe. He would be safe from his own heroic stupidity, his belief that he could save Aziraphale no matter what the consequences were. Aziraphale knew without a doubt that Crowley would try his best to find him, that he would search the entirety of the planet, city by city, until he had found him. Of course, he knew that this would only mean he would move around more and more often to avoid the demon finding him, but at least he would be alive. They both would.

A sudden idea flashed before Aziraphale’s eyes, bringing him hope in his hopeless situation. Perhaps he could talk to Crowley through Anathema; he could write her letters to give to Crowley or perhaps give her a message through the phone to pass on to him. His mind began to race as the hope of possibly escaping this fate began to take root in Aziraphale’s chest. It would be perfectly acceptable, right? He would just be speaking to another human, maybe even try to play it off as helping one of The Lost. Through Anathema, they could even try to devise a plan of escape, one where they could be together again.

Hope quickly deflated out of him as he began to notice the holes in this plan. If they ran away, what next? Heaven would find them eventually; Earth was so incredibly small, with only so many places to hide. They wouldn’t be able to evade Heaven’s wrath forever, just buy themselves a few more blissful centuries before they were found. Only this time when they caught up to them, Heaven wouldn’t let Crowley live- no, they would eliminate him for standing in the way. They would then drag a devastated Aziraphale to Heaven, and chain him to a desk that would be his prison until the end of time.

He wouldn’t let them hurt Crowley. They could do whatever they wanted to him, but not Crowley. The only thing that made this slightly tolerable was the fact that Aziraphale knew that Crowley would be out there somewhere, alive.

He had made his decision. He’d remain on Earth, remain on the planet that once brought him so much joy and happiness that would now be drained of life.

He was about to step forward, about to proudly declare his choice and bear it as best he could when a small voice in his head whispered that there was, in fact, a third choice. Not a pretty or preferable choice by far, but one that would allow him to keep Crowley.

Aziraphale felt his hands begin to shake as he realized that he was going to go through with that choice, and felt warm tears begin to form in his eyes that threatened to escape onto his cheeks. He didn’t want to do this; in fact, he wanted to do almost anything but this. Aziraphale felt like vomiting at the thought of what he was about to do, wanting desperately to find another way, another option that would be less painful but still yield the same results. Deep in his heart, however, Aziraphale knew that this was the right decision. He was so tired of being bossed around, tired of being told what to do by angels who really didn’t understand God’s love one bit. While this decision would be the one that would be the most painful both emotionally and physically, it would allow him to keep the one thing in the entire universe that he cared about more than anything, the one person that he realized he would do anything for. He steadied his hands, drew a deep breath into his lungs, and made his choice.

“No.” Aziraphale was pleased when his voice came out strong and clear, no ounce of fear or regret shining through.

Gabriel’s face contorted into confusion as he said, “Uh, Aziraphale? Were you listening? That wasn’t an option. In fact, you don’t have the option to say no. It’s real easy- just chose option A or option B.”

“No, Gabriel. I’m not going to do either of those wretched options you gave me. I refuse.”

Gabriel looked like he was about to give a witty come back about how stupid he thought Aziraphale was before his expression froze, shifting from condescending to horror as he discovered what Aziraphale had meant.

“Aziraphale- you- you _can’t_ be serious. You- you- Aziraphale, this is ridiculous!”

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale felt something wet begin to form on his cheeks, “But I’m afraid you don’t leave me with much of a choice.”

Michael looked at Aziraphale with something that almost felt like concern before saying, “Aziraphale you can’t- he’s not worth this! Don’t through your life away on some _worthless_ creature.”

The angels in the room stared at Aziraphale in disbelief, as if they thought Aziraphale didn’t quite understand the magnitude of the situation. An uncomfortable silence filled the crowded bookshop, maintaining itself for what felt like a millennium before Aziraphale’s voice broke it.

“I’ve always cared for you all, despite everything you put me through.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, full of understanding of the consequences of his decision, “It just so happens that I’ve also always cared for Crowley, who is not worthless and is _undoubtedly_ the most magnificent being I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, more than I do to stand by Heaven’s side without him.”

Aziraphale felt a weight being lifted in his chest when he defended Crowley, delighting in how Gabriel’s face contorted into shock and disgust at Aziraphale’s proclamation. Ever since the beginning, Aziraphale had always been at the end of jokes, always been the one who had to tolerate being pushed around by beings who were supposed to love and care for him. To finally speak back seemed to release all of the tension and fear from his body. He felt comforted in the fact that he was finally taking control over his own life, comforted in the fact that Gabriel and the rest of the self-righteous, pompous angels would finally _butt out of his privacy_. Though Aziraphale felt comforted in his decision, the sting of knowing he was losing God’s love cut deep. Despite everything, he didn’t have a grudge against her, and still loved her with every fiber of his being.

Aziraphale hoped that she would forgive him.

“Aziraphale, I’m truly horrified by this turn of events, and beg you to reconsider.” While the mask that was Gabriel’s face painted an angel who was genuinely concerned about one of his brothers, his eye’s didn’t portray the same act. Aziraphale knew that while Gabriel hadn’t expected the way today went, he _did_ relish in the fact that Aziraphale would be forced to suffer in an awfully cruel way.

“Will you allow me to stay on Earth the way that I have been living for the past six thousand years?” Aziraphale asked, fully knowing the answer before it was spoken.

“Well, no-”

“Then I’m truly sorry, but I’m sticking to my decision.”

“There’s no going back from this- you know that, right? Once you do this you’ll never be able to reverse what has been done.”

“I am fully aware, Gabriel. I’ve made my bed. Now leave to let me lie in it.”

Gabriel stared at Aziraphale, trying to find an ounce of fear or indication that he was wavering in his stance. Aziraphale stared back, not backing down like he had done so many times in the past. Gabriel nodded and, with a snap, a burst of light covered every inch of the bookshop, collecting all the angels inside.

Within the same breath of that burst of light, Aziraphale fell to the ground, dropping the books that once rested in his hands and clutched his chest.

Pain- unimaginable pain- made its way throughout Aziraphale’s body, robbing him of the air in his lungs as it seared through him. It felt as if every bone in his body was being crushed all at once, his muscles being torn apart just to be sutured back together again. A small but building pain of being burned alive crept into his core, making its way from the center of Aziraphale’s chest to his wings. He knew without having to look that his feathers would be gone.

He cried out in torment, wishing now more than ever that Crowley was there. If he could just reach the phone, just dial Crowley’s number, he would be there in a miracle. He didn’t even have to speak; Aziraphale only had to make the call and Crowley would be able to sense something was wrong. Aziraphale moved his arm in an attempt to try to move towards his phone, but stopped when he realized that moving made the pain somehow even more intolerable. Aziraphale slumped against the floor, defeated, and felt himself curl into himself while tears freely flowed down his face. Aziraphale had been through pain before but this… this was something else.

Aziraphale was in the worst pain- no not pain, the worst _agony_ of his life.

As Aziraphale lied helplessly on the floor, the scenery around him began to morph into a much darker and warmer place. If it hadn’t been for the overwhelming torture that was shooting through his body, Aziraphale would have noticed the walls of his familiar bookshop fade away to a harsh black room, the floor shift beneath him from cold, dark wood to warm, hard concrete. He would have noticed the comforting smell of books change to the harsh smell of sulfur, would have noticed the feeling of general despair hanging in the air that seemed to stick to everyone like a bad cologne.

He only noticed a change when an oddly familiar voice said, “Welcome to Hell.”

Beelzebub.

They were sitting in a chair that would be more accurately described as a black throne, looking at a mobile device that reminded him of the one that Crowley always had on him. The room itself was almost empty, except for a few demons that seemed to cling to the walls, muttering amongst themselves.

“We applaud you for rebelling against the will of Heaven, and hope that you find Hell more-” Whatever script Beelzebub was saying drowned on their lips when they finally looked up, and saw a familiar former angel sitting in front of them.

“Wait a minute,” Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed, trying to figure out why they recognized the being that was curled up in front of them, “I know you, don’t I?”

Aziraphale would have denied their claim, not wanting to give any indication of the trick Crowley and Aziraphale had played on the forces of Hell and Heaven, but Aziraphale didn’t have anything left in him to care at the moment. Aziraphale was in the most excruciating agony he’d ever known, and he didn’t care really what Beelzebub said or figured out. He just wanted the pain to end, for this all _to stop_.

“You’re- you’re that angel- the one that helped Crowley stop the apocalypse- the one at the airbase,” Beelzebub tilted their head, curious, “What are _you_ doing here?”

Aziraphale, again, didn’t respond; he was too engrossed in his own suffering to carry a conversation, to entertain the ever so wondering Beelzebub. They waited for an answer, and when Beelzebub realized they weren’t getting one, they turned their head and screamed the name of some other demon. The poor demon quickly came running to their aid with a stack of manila folders in his hands, looking terrified for his existence.

“What is _he_ doing here, in the New Recruits room?” They referred to Aziraphale with a pointed nod in his general direction, still looking confused but with a slight air of boredom returning to them.

“He- well, he Fell.” The demon explained, his voice coming out like a squeak.

“No, that’s not _possible_ with this angel.” Beelzebub’s voice was escalating from mere confusion to frustration now.

“I- it says it all here- i-in his file.” The demon said, handing a manila folder to Beelzebub.

They shook their head, pushing the folder back and hissed, “Those _bastards_ Upstairs must have sent him down here _accidentally_, they were _supposed to handle him on their own_. Now, they’ve made a mistake and left him with _me_-”

“No,” Aziraphale’s voice was a mere whisper, barely audible in the already crowded room, “Not a mistake.”

Beelzebub didn’t move for a solid second, trying to process the scene that was playing out in front of them.

“EVERYONE,” They shouted suddenly, “LEAVE THIS ROOM IMMEDIATELY.”

Everyone in the room froze, only moving when Beelzebub shouted ‘NOW’, which caused an avalanche of demons scrambling to get out of the small room.

Beelzebub slowly stood, and started to make their way towards Aziraphale before stopping within a step of the fallen angel. They stared at him with an intense curiosity, and with what would appear to be a hint of… caution? Beelzebub stood before him for a few more seconds, studying him carefully, before Aziraphale felt a blanket being miraculously wrapped around him. He slowly grabbed the edges with his fist, bringing the soft blanket closer to his chest. Beelzebub turned back towards their seat suddenly, before saying.

“I’ll get Crowley to come get you.”

“T-thank you.” Aziraphale was surprised that he was on the receiving end of any type of kindness coming from the demon that had tried to execute Crowley only a few months ago.

“Don’t thank me- I’m a _demon_,” They grabbed their mobile device again, before adding, “As are you now.”

The words would have been more devastating for Aziraphale if he hadn’t been distracted by the pain sweeping through his very being at that moment, so instead it only caused his chest to tighten slightly.

Aziraphale heard Beelzebub begin to dial a number, ringing for a few times before the comforting voice of Crowley filled the nearly empty room on speaker phone.

“Beelzebub! To what do I owe the great displeasure of talking to you? I thought we agreed it would be best to leave me alone, remember?”

“The angel’s here, in Hell, Crowley.” Beelzebub said offhandedly, as if they were simply reporting the weather to a wondering friend.

There was a pause at the other end of the line, before Crowley’s voice returned, dripping with rage and viciousness.

“I _sssswear_ Beelzebub, if any of you _hurt him_, if any of you ssssso much as _look at him funny I’ll_-”

“He’s, well, not fine, but we’re not hurting him. I’m calling you to collect him.”

“Wha- what do you mean _he’ssss not fine?_” Though it was undetectable to Beelzebub, Aziraphale had spent enough time with Crowley to be able to detect the fright that was gripping his voice through the phone.

“He’ll be waiting in room 205, you remember where room 205 is, right?” Beelzebub began picking at their nails, sounding completely bored at the conversation they were having.

“Yessss of _courssse I know where room 205_ is but you’re not anssswering my question-”

“I recommend you hurry.”

With that, the line went down, leaving the Prince of Hell and an ex principality waiting in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley had always been fast. Whether it was driving 90 miles an hour or quickly gulping down a scalding cup of coffee despite the burn it left on his tongue, he did most things in a rush, as if he was running out of time. Crowley had tried to slow himself down around Aziraphale after that night in 1967, but would inevitably return to his old ways no matter how hard he tried.

When Crowley received the phone call from Beelzebub, however, he was sure that he had never moved faster in his entire six thousand years of existence to his car than in that moment. He had been sitting in his flat, lounging in bed when he had received the call. Within two seconds of the line going dead he was outside the Bentley, throwing himself into the driver’s seat. The engine seemed to miraculously purr to life before Crowley had even put his key in, seemed to move forward before Crowley had even placed his hands on the steering wheel. 

A million thoughts and questions ran through his mind, all demanding answers and attention that Crowley didn’t have. He had always known that Hell and Heaven would come after them- always known that this small amount of breathing room Aziraphale and Crowley had been given wouldn’t last forever. He’d expected Hell to come, literally, barging through his door, maybe having already figured out Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s body-switch trick, with no prophecy to help him figure out how to escape. He wondered if he would try to run, or try to give the fight of his life before the forces of Hell overcame him. Crowley wasn’t sure, but he had been confident in the assumption that Hell would leave Aziraphale for Heaven to deal with and not take matters into their own hands.

Were Heaven and Hell working together? It wouldn’t be too surprising, given they had temporarily joined teams the first time they had tried to kill them. It quickly dawned on Crowley that this was, in all actuality, most likely a trap. Either Hell was really keeping Aziraphale hostage, or they had lied, wanting to capture Crowley easily without risking him escaping. No matter what, they would be waiting for Crowley to burst his way in his typical dramatic style into Hell, only to be met with his demise. The anxiety of the unknown caused Crowley’s knuckles to turn white as he sped through the familiar London streets. Crowley hadn’t necessarily _heard_ Aziraphale through the phone, had no guarantee that he was actually down there. Before Crowley dived headfirst into danger, he had to make sure there was an actual danger.

With one hand precariously on the steering wheel and the other grabbing at his phone, Crowley quickly dialed Aziraphale’s number. Every fiber of his being wanted Aziraphale to pick up, to hear Aziraphale’s comforting voice scold him for using his phone while driving. With each ring that went by unanswered, the fear in his chest seemed to pierce his heart more and more, completely puncturing through when he heard Aziraphale’s familiar voicemail.

“Dammit.” Crowley grumbled before trying again.

Crowley had tried two more times before he reached the bookshop, running out of his car and screaming for Aziraphale before he was even in the shop. As he busted through the bookstore’s doors, flashes of well-loved books on fire tore through his mind, the horrified feeling he had felt then returning to him when he realized that he couldn’t feel Aziraphale’s presence anywhere. He couldn’t feel the frequency of his existence that reminded him of old books and  
the smell of cocoa.

“Aziraphale? Are you here?” Crowley screamed into the empty shop.

He had only walked a few steps forward before the concept that Hell might not be bluffing began to feel like a reality. He saw a few books scattered on the ground, some closed but others opened, the covers bending and the papers tearing inside. Aziraphale loved his books more than anything; he always handled each one carefully, as though they would fall apart if met with rough hands. He treated each book with the utmost respect, and the pit that was growing in Crowley’s stomach grew as it dawned on him that something terrible must have happened to Aziraphale for him to ignore his books in such a state.

“AZIRAPHALE!” Crowley tried one last time, knowing that it was pointless but not wanting to give up just yet.

Crowley’s breathing began to quicken, and he felt dread spread through his limbs and into his core as he wondered what atrocities could be happening to Aziraphale right now. With that thought in mind, Crowley ran out the door to his car, flicking his wrist on the way out that caused the books that were carelessly scattered on the floor to be neatly stacked on Aziraphale’s desk, the covers pressed back into place and the tears in the pages gone.

On a normal day with light traffic, it usually took Aziraphale and Crowley approximately fifteen minutes to reach the gateway into Heaven and Hell. However, thanks to Crowley driving through the streets of central London like a madman and nearly hitting several pedestrians and cars, he had made it in seven minutes. When Aziraphale and Crowley had successfully fooled their old sides into thinking they were immune to their weaknesses, Crowley had vowed to never willingly walk into Hell for as long as he lived. He had planned to ignore the assholes Downstairs for as long as he could get away with, but with Aziraphale in danger, the plans he had made before didn’t seem to matter as much.

Crowley had wanted to start running as soon as he entered Hell, but with Hell being filled to the brim with demons, it was hard to find space _to _run. He did his best to push through crowds of oblivious demons, all while trying to keep his head down to avoid being recognized. Crowley knew better than anyone that demons held grudges, and though they typically liked to work alone, he had a feeling that they would make an exception to kill him. Crowley had never really liked Hell, never enjoyed staying in the gloomy, overcrowded rooms the way other demons did. He bore through it the way a child goes through school; not because they want to go, but because they have to go. Though Crowley had to attend frequent meetings in Hell, he had never stayed long; they always met in the same room, discussed their evil deeds for less than five minutes before they would be dismissed. Crowley would walk the same route back to Earth, never lingering around to take in the sights and smells of Hell. Crowley now silently cursed himself for never taking the time to map out the outline of Hell in his mind, because despite the fact that he vaguely remembered _where_ room 205 was, he couldn’t seem to trace his way back to the right path that would take him there.

Each time Crowley took a wrong turn, his fear began to melt into anger, both at himself and the forces responsible for putting him and Aziraphale into this situation. The more he got lost, the stronger the urge to punch the closest demonic spirit to him became, but knew that he would be no help to Aziraphale if he was too busy getting into a pointless fistfight with some random demon. His anger had just started to fade into despair when he finally recognized the nearly desolate hallway that contained room 205, relief and fear beginning to crawl its way back into Crowley’s heart. He picked up his pace as he ran down the hallway and started to scream for Beelzebub and for Aziraphale, causing the heads of a few demons to turn around him.

Crowley threw the door open, causing it to crash into the wall and reverberate loudly in the quiet room. If it hadn’t been for his anger and fear causing him to rush through the door, he would have spotted Aziraphale curled on the floor, softly moaning to himself. Instead, his eyes went straight for Beelzebub, who was looking at something on their phone, ignoring Crowley completely.

“_Where isss he_?” Crowley’s voice came out deep and menacing, a sound that would have made any reasonable person cower with fear.

Beelzebub, however, was not frightened at all. If they were, they gave no indication of it, only acknowledging Crowley by slightly moving their right hand to lazily gesture at something in front of them without removing their eyes from the phone. 

Crowley’s eyes followed to where Beelzebub had pointed to, and felt as if the world itself stopped moving when he saw the familiar shape of Aziraphale laying lifeless on the ground. Before he could tell himself to do so, he was kneeling in front of the former angel, placing his hands on Aziraphale’s arms. He almost reeled his hands back when his fingers touched the scalding skin that belonged to Aziraphale, causing a fresh new wave of worry to rush through him since it shouldn’t be possible for Aziraphale’s body temperature to be anything but perfect. Aziraphale’s cheeks were stained with tears, his eyebrows furrowed together and hands clenched tightly in what looked like to be incredible suffering.

“What did you _do_ to him?!” Crowley snarled, lifting his head up to see Beelzebub mindlessly pressing something on their phone.

“It wasn’t us that did this to him, Crowley,” While he wasn’t sure, he could have sworn there was a hint of pity in Beelzebub’s voice, “He’s free to leave with you, if that’s what he wants.”

“Wha-?” Crowley didn’t understand anything that was happening at the moment; why would Hell go through all the trouble to kidnap Aziraphale just to let him go? What had Beelzebub meant when they said Hell _wasn’t _responsible?

Though Crowley wanted to yell at Beelzebub until he got a straight answer, he didn’t have time to ask questions; Aziraphale was suffering, and he needed his help.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley turned his attention back to the hurting being, “Can you move? Stand?”

Aziraphale shook his head, and winced at the effort of it. Crowley was relieved to see that Aziraphale was still there, still aware of what was going on despite going through, well, whatever he was going through.

“Okay,” Crowley nodded his head, “Okay, I’m going to get us out of here, alright? Just hold on.”

With a parting glance to the still uncaring Beelzebub, Crowley snapped his fingers, and the horrors of Hell faded away into the well-known bookshop.  
Crowley had hoped that once they got out of Hell, Aziraphale would snap out of whatever was harming him and sit up and smile. He had hoped for Aziraphale to thank him for rescuing him yet again, and Crowley would give some snarky remark about how he’d lost count of how many times he’d bailed Aziraphale out of trouble. Crowley had hoped that simply being in Hell was the culprit of the pain, the amount of suffering and wailing that seemed to coat the  
walls too much for his angelic spirit.

Aziraphale, however, still cried in pain, and began to try to pull his legs closer into himself as if he wanted to become as small as possible. Crowley’s dread graduated to a full-blown panic attack as he realized he didn’t know how to deal with this. Aziraphale’s body was, in a way, human, susceptible to any and all diseases here on Earth, but even if he had caught anything the celestial part of Aziraphale would simply cure itself. A bad case of the flu would be like mere allergies to Aziraphale, maybe at worst suffering through a cough for a day before his body cleared itself of any sickness. Any injuries would heal on their own, and any pain he dealt with would be gone in a matter of seconds. By all accounts Aziraphale’s skin shouldn’t feel like it was burning, he shouldn’t have been shivering, shouldn’t have looked like death himself had visited and made himself at home in Aziraphale.

“Angel,” Crowley started, trying to remain calm, “You need to tell me what’s wrong. I can miracle this away but I can’t if I don’t know what _this_ is.”

Aziraphale slowly shook his head, a sharp breath pulling through his teeth as he clenched the blanket harder.

Even though Crowley couldn’t feel the pain Aziraphale was in, every gasp and moan cut into him deeply, tears beginning to form in his eyes as his panic coiled itself comfortably around his heart. He tossed his sunglasses off his face, hoping that if Aziraphale could see how frightened he was he would let him help.

“Angel _please_,” Crowley let the pain he was feeling sink into his voice, not caring if it made him look weak, “Please, let me help. Let me take this _away_.”

Aziraphale opened a watery blue eye at Crowley, a sad smile playing on his lips.

“You can’t- AH,” He tilted his head back as another wave of pain hit him, and Crowley quickly grasped Aziraphale’s hand, “You can’t miracle this away, my dear.”

Crowley felt his chest grow tight. He wanted to help, wanted to stop this, wanted to make Aziraphale better again. Crowley couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just gesture this problem away, why Aziraphale wouldn’t _let_ him help. He hated seeing Aziraphale like this, hated feeling so _useless_, desperate to do something, _anything_.

“Tell me what to do, Aziraphale,” Tears began to fall freely from Crowley’s eyes, “Tell me how to help.”

“I just- I just need to rest, that’s all.” Aziraphale’s eyes closed shut as his face tensed up.

Rest. Okay, that was something Crowley could help with.

“Al- Alright, I’m going to get you into bed, angel.” Normally, Aziraphale would blush at the sound of that, and Crowley would feel embarrassed but laugh it off and pretend that his heart didn’t flutter at the implications of his words.

Crowley looked up the stairs, and knew there was no way Aziraphale would be able to make it to the room. Fixing his gaze back on Aziraphale, Crowley performed another demonic miracle, and they found themselves in Aziraphale’s bedroom. Crowley stood next to the left side of the bed, and Aziraphale lied on top of the covers, facing Crowley. He quickly miracled Aziraphale into his pajamas, and began to pull at the blankets on the bed and wrap them around Aziraphale, who gratefully pulled them closer to himself.

Crowley sat in a chair next to Aziraphale’s side of the bed that hadn’t been there before now, and placed his hands in Aziraphale’s who accepted them appreciatively. The room was relatively quiet, save for Aziraphale’s heavy breathing and occasional moans. As the tension of running through London and Hell began to melt out of Crowley’s body, he could feel the weight of all of the miracles he had performed that day take their toll on him. His eyelids grew heavy, his limbs were harder to move than normal, and his muscles ached dully in the way they do when they’ve been pushed to their limits.

Crowley felt like he was dying. He was watching Aziraphale suffer through something unknown, who refused his help. Whenever Aziraphale tensed, whenever Aziraphale would let out a noise that sounded like a tortured animal, Crowley felt a small piece of himself die. Crowley would squeeze his hand, run his thumb over his knuckles and silently sob to himself. He wanted to find whoever was responsible for this, for hurting his kind, sweet Aziraphale, and hurt them in the _worst_ possible way. Crowley had never been much of a malevolent being, only causing light temptations and gluing coins to the sidewalk in order to cause minor inconveniences. He knew, however, that he was willing to make an exception for whoever was putting Aziraphale through this.

After about two long, agonizing hours of watching the one thing he cared most about in the universe suffer, he decided he had to make this end. Crowley couldn’t live with himself if he let this go on for any longer, and though Aziraphale might be mad at him for whatever reason, he  
didn’t care. He just had to make this _stop_.

There was always a risk to performing miracles without having a clear end goal in mind. Yes, Crowley knew and was clear on the fact that he wanted whatever was plaguing Aziraphale to stop, but the problem was that he didn’t even know what _it_ was. Without all of the necessary information, Crowley’s attempt to cure Aziraphale’s ailment could backfire on him, making this torment worse or end up giving Aziraphale a new kind of suffering. While those risks scared  
Crowley, seeing Aziraphale in distress scared him more.

Crowley withdrew one of his hands, his heart hurting when he felt Aziraphale try to cling to it. He lifted his hand, closed his eyes, and snapped his fingers. He felt the familiar rush of powers erupt through his core and flow through his limbs, felt it leave his body as it went on its way to accomplish whatever Crowley had sent it out to do. Crowley slowly opened his eyes, exhaustion beginning to eat at him faster than it had before, hoping to see Aziraphale cured and fast asleep.

He was horrified when he saw that nothing had changed. He snapped his fingers again, trying to intensify the miracle he was trying to perform. Nothing. The sickening realization that Crowley truly could do absolutely nothing sank in, causing his heart to feel like it was being shattered into a million tiny pieces, each one sinking themselves deeper into Crowley’s insides. With a shaky breath, Crowley moved himself closer to Aziraphale, thinking that if he couldn’t  
make the pain go away, he would at least do his best to comfort his ailing angel in his time of need. He placed a hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, his thumb rubbing lightly over his cheekbone. Aziraphale leaned into Crowley’s touch, the tension in his face relaxing ever so slightly. In any other situation, this type of affection would demand an explanation. Friends don’t touch each other this closely, this intimate, and especially don’t lean into the touch of the others on their skin. Now wasn’t not the time, though. It wasn’t not the time for excuses, for claiming there was an eyelash that wasn’t there, for quickly retracting the hand and playing it off as an accidental touch. No, there wasn’t any need for that. There was a need for love, no matter what form it was given, in this moment; a need for a sign that says you’re not alone, I love you, I’m right here, I’m never leaving you, no matter what way it was spoken.

Aziraphale tightened his grip around Crowley’s other hand, and whispered, “Come.”

Crowley blinked, not understanding what message he was trying to convey and wondering if Aziraphale was possibly delusional.

“Come……. here.” Aziraphale spoke softly again.

Crowley let a small “oh” escape from his lips, finally understanding what Aziraphale wanted from him. In a flash he was on the bed, pulling Aziraphale into his chest and wrapping his arms around his frame. He held onto Aziraphale as tight as he could without causing pain, and with one hand he ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair and with the other he rubbed small circles into the ex angel’s back. Aziraphale leaned into Crowley, his face tucked away into the crook of Crowley’s neck. He felt Aziraphale’s hands grasp the lapels on Crowley’s jacket, could feel every sharp inhale Aziraphale took. Crowley started to murmur ‘it’s okay, we’re going to be okay’ into Aziraphale’s hair in the hopes that he could relax enough to fall asleep and escape this pain for a handful of hours. The pain, unfortunately, demanded too much attention from Aziraphale to allow him to sleep, and though Crowley was exhausted, he refused to sleep while Aziraphale was still awake.

Two full days passed until Aziraphale’s pain finally dulled just enough for him to escape into sleep. Crowley knew the moment he had finally drifted off when he heard Aziraphale’s soft snoring, a sound that both warmed his heart and gave him hope that maybe, maybe this was coming to a close. Crowley _did_ try to stay awake, wanting to be there when Aziraphale next woke and needed comforting, but as soon as he closed his eyes his body took the opportunity to  
seek the rest it needed.

Crowley was gone before he had even known he was falling asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley slept for an entire day, while Aziraphale stayed asleep for another day and a half. He woke up periodically when the pain began to rise in its intensity, but quickly drifted back to sleep once it began to die back down. Crowley always woke with him, would always do his best at helping him by trying to distract Aziraphale from the pain by holding him tighter and telling him that it was going to be alright. Aziraphale had eventually moved his hands from the lapels on Crowley’s jacket to fully wrap around the demon, a move that Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice seemed to make Crowley melt into him.

It took only one more day for the pain to become tolerable, and while it still hurt terribly, it was something Aziraphale could handle. When he finally woke, he was pleased to find that the bone-crushing sensation had dialed down to a mere ache deep in his bones. He still felt himself shiver despite being underneath his blankets, and though the feeling of burning still remained, it had begun to crawl away from his outer limbs and make its way closer to his chest. 

Crowley had already been awake when he felt Aziraphale begin to stir, his hand beginning to gently stroke Aziraphale’s back once he sensed that Aziraphale was awake. When the pain had been at its highest point, Aziraphale hadn’t had time to process the fact that Crowley was touching him. Now that the pain had left enough space in Aziraphale’s mind to think properly, however, Aziraphale felt almost giddy and was tempted to pretend to be asleep so he could stay in Crowley’s arms.

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice was soft and gentle, not wanting to push Aziraphale if he wasn’t ready to talk.

“Yes, my dear?” Aziraphale’s voice came out raspy, but stronger than it had been a few days ago.

“Are you- how are you feeling?”

“Better, I assure you.” Aziraphale stretched his legs, realizing that though it wasn’t excruciatingly painful to move anymore, the muscles were still sore and yelled in protest at his movement.

“Good, that’s good.” Crowley sighed with relief, and pulled himself back so he could see Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was surprised to see Crowley without his sunglasses, but was glad nonetheless that he could see into the demon’s worried yellow eyes. It was a rare sight to see Crowley without his sunglasses, usually only removing them when he was drunk or when they annoyed him. Aziraphale was surprised once again when Crowley moved the hand that was on Aziraphale’s back to his cheek, doing the same rubbing motion he had done before.

“What happened, angel?” He said after they had stared at each other for a while.

Aziraphale flinched at the nickname, his eyes pricking up with tears as he was reminded of what he had lost. He tried to think of how to say ‘I Fell’ to Crowley, but the words seemed to die on his tongue before he could open his mouth.

“Not anymore.” Aziraphale finally said, tearing his eyes from Crowley’s as he confessed the truth.

Though a part of him knew he was ridiculous, an even bigger part feared that Crowley would be disgusted with him once he realized he had Fell, was no longer an angel. Crowley, once he had a few glasses of wine in him, would always complain about how _boring_ the lot in Hell was, how unamusing his fellow demons were. Aziraphale had assumed, when they had first begun to encounter each other on Earth, that Crowley preferred to remain on Earth because of how interesting he found the world. With that same logic in mind, Aziraphale had also begun to assume that once their run-ins became more and more frequent, it was because he found Aziraphale intriguing, a fresh breath of air from the dull normality of Hell. An angel was definitely as different as one could get from the aspects of Hell, and he had thought that Crowley simply liked Aziraphale for his angelic nature. 

Aziraphale didn’t have to be looking at Crowley to know when he put two and two together. He heard a sharp breath being pulled into Crowley’s lips, his muscles beginning to tense with the truth that had been lying in front of him for four days now. _This is the part when he leaves_, a small voice in Aziraphale’s head whispered, _here is the part when he tells you goodbye_,_ and then you’ll be all alone._ Though Aziraphale didn’t want Crowley to leave, he also didn’t want to force him to stay if he didn’t want to.

“Wha- What happened, Aziraphale?” He knew that Crowley’s eyebrows would be scrunched together, his eyes brimming with shock and confusion, and, if Aziraphale was right about his theory, disgust.

“They forced my hand,” Aziraphale wanted to look at Crowley’s face, to see what was going on in the demon’s head but couldn’t find the strength to do it, “They were mad, you see, with the fact that I was still unpunished from the whole Not Apocalypse debacle. They told me that since I defied the will of Heaven, defied God’s Great Plan, I was no longer welcome. And then they left, and well, here I am.”

Aziraphale knew that hiding the truth had never ended well for anyone. He knew that one could only keep it hidden for so long, behind so many clever ruses before the sheet was pulled, and the light shone on reality. Aziraphale had had every intention of telling Crowley what really happened, but as he was speaking, an odd feeling in his gut told him that Crowley might not take well to the fact that Aziraphale had Fallen for him. He decided that, if Crowley didn’t leave in the next ten seconds, he would tell the truth someday. As of right now, he just wanted to keep it hidden until he had the strength to reveal it.

Aziraphale expected Crowley to retract his arms from underneath him after his confession. He expected Crowley to hiss in the way that he did when he was flustered, and for him to make up some obvious excuse and be out the door before he even finished speaking. What Aziraphale did _not _expect, however, was for Crowley to pull Aziraphale back into himself, and for Crowley to place his head on Aziraphale’s neck. He didn’t expect the arms around him to tighten, and did not expect the words that came out of his mouth. 

“I’m so sorry, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered into his ear, “I, I knew how much being an angel meant to you.” He paused, only when he heard Aziraphale whimper at that last part.

“You- you were the best of them. They didn’t deserve you, angel. You know that right? You were too good for them anyways,” He pulled back, lifting Aziraphale’s head so he could meet his eyes, “You’re still an angel to me- I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t care if you’re an _aardvark_, for Someone’s sake. You’ll always be my angel.”

Crowley didn’t notice his slip up, but Aziraphale did. Soft tears that had nothing to do with the physical pain of Falling began to form in his eyes before they made their way onto his face. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what the tears were for- sure, he was upset about his descent from Heaven, but in all actuality that fact wouldn’t truly hit him for a few weeks. It probably had to do with the fact that Crowley was still here, had pushed his forehead against his and was  
wiping his tears away with his thumbs. It was probably from the relief to know that he was not facing this alone, to know that the person he loved was holding him tight and was never going to let him go.

————————————————————————

They spent most of the time in the beginning in bed, Crowley doing his best to try to distract Aziraphale from his aching body. At the end of the first week, Crowley went into the kitchen to make Aziraphale a light snack, something to help Aziraphale feel more like himself. He knew he couldn’t do anything heavy; although his Fall was significantly longer ago, he still remembered how nauseous he felt, and the seemingly never-ending pain that raged its war through his body. He settled on making toast, something in his recollection telling him that this was good for a sensitive stomach. He grabbed some water too, knowing that though Aziraphale’s body didn’t normally need water, having something cool to drink while Falling definitely helped with the symptoms.

By the time Crowley made his way back to the bedroom, Aziraphale was already beginning to wake. His blue eyes blinked rapidly as they tried to adjust to the bright morning light that was coming through at the window.

“Good morning, angel,” Crowley said as he put the food down on the end table next to the bed so he could close the curtains, “I brought you something to try to eat to see if it makes you feel better.”

Aziraphale nodded, taking a small apprehensive bite of toast as soon as Crowley handed it to him. Aziraphale froze, and before Crowley could ask him what was wrong, Aziraphale bolted from the bed and into the bathroom to throw up. Crowley ran after him, holding onto his heaving shoulders and apologizing profusely.

“It’s quite alright, my dear.” Aziraphale said after Crowley had cleaned him up and gotten him back into bed.

After a few more days, Aziraphale began to feel more like his old self again. The sore muscles faded into a distant thought, and the burning sensation had become more of a distant dying ember in his chest, making him wonder if this was what humans always referred to as heartburn.

At night, Aziraphale would ask Crowley to speak, not really interested in what he had to say but wanting to focus on the sound of his voice more than the pain that sometimes flared itself when he didn’t have anything preoccupying his mind. Aziraphale would fall asleep to Crowley’s so-called “adventures” of the past, all extremely embellished but entertaining none-the-less.

“Crowley do you _really_ expect me to believe that you single-handedly started the American Revolution?” Aziraphale asked one night during a questionable story.

“What, you think I’d lie to you angel?” Crowley’s voice carried a mocked sound of hurt.

“Absolutely, my dear boy.”

Other times Aziraphale would ask Crowley to read to him, ask him to pick any book, he wasn’t particularly picky, and fall asleep to the words that Aziraphale had read thousands of times. Sometimes, Crowley would find himself so engrossed in the novel he would keep reading, even after Aziraphale had fallen asleep on his arm. He wouldn’t tell Aziraphale, though; he had been trying to get Crowley to read for the past couple hundred years and he didn’t want to see his smug face when he told him he sort of enjoyed it.

Towards the end of two weeks, Aziraphale had finally been able to get himself out of bed, take small walks around the bookshop, and was even able to keep down a piece of dry toast. The pain he had experienced was now a dull memory, and though he felt almost the same as he had before the Fall, he couldn’t help but feel like something inside of him had changed, like his very soul itself had become heavier.

He slept less and less; sleeping was always Crowley’s thing, never Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale found himself still going to bed at the same time, however, never falling asleep but enjoying Crowley’s presence so close to him but never being able to close the distance between the two of them. When he had first Fallen, he didn’t care about the arbitrary rules of relationships, the ‘what if he doesn’t feel the same way?’ or ‘it’s too dangerous’- he was in pain, and needed Crowley as close to him as possible to help take some of that pain away.

After he was able to think more clearly, he had begun to separate himself from Crowley. He went from going sleeping in his chest consistently to sleeping on his arm, to finally sleeping in his own side of the bed. If Crowley had begun to notice he made no sign of it, staying in his own space. 

It was on one of these nights that Aziraphale decided it was time for a shower. 

While yes, celestial beings never necessarily _needed_ a shower, Falling had caused Aziraphale sweat for the very first time, and in copious amounts of it too. He couldn’t imagine what he smelled like, and besides, a nice, warm shower sounded heavenly to him.

He sat up in bed, looked back at Crowley who had been in the middle of reading something out loud to him, and said, “I think I’m going to head into the shower.”

Crowley glanced up from the page, before setting the book on the nightstand.

“Oh, erm, here hold on.” Crowley sprang out of bed, waving Aziraphale to follow him as he made his way into the bathroom.

Aziraphale felt like he wanted to emphasis that he had meant _alone_before he noticed Crowley starting the shower, putting his hands over the water before shaking his head and making it warmer or colder.

“There,” Crowley said, after he’d reached whatever temperature he deemed perfect, “Your skin is still, well, fragile, so it’s best to stick to room temperature water for now.”

“Oh. Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale nodded, a little relieved and only slightly  
disappointed that Crowley hadn’t planned on joining him.

“Alright, well, I’ll leave you to it.” Crowley walked out of the bathroom and shut the door gently behind him.

Aziraphale had been right about one thing, which was that the shower _did_ feel heavenly. It felt as if he was washing off the past two weeks, the stress, the entirety of it. He couldn’t help, though, but wish that the water was a little warmer. The water wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it wasn’t exactly what Aziraphale had imagined when he had planned this in the first place. A little warmer wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

Aziraphale turned the shower knob slightly to the left, and exhaled a small shriek when the water hit his skin. The water felt scalding, like a pot of boiling water had been spilled onto his skin.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s concerned voice came from outside the bathroom door.

Aziraphale jumped out of the shower, embarrassment causing his cheeks to flush deep red.

“I- I’m fine, dear.”

There was a pause before Crowley said, “You turned the water warmer, didn’t you?”

There was nothing malicious in Crowley’s voice, nothing that held an air of ‘I told you so’ in it. Instead, there was amusement that was trying to be covered up by concern that was failing miserably.

“…Of course not.” Aziraphale said unconvincingly after a second.

Crowley laughed from behind the door, deepening the blush on Aziraphale’s cheeks. He ignored Crowley, and went back to the shower to try to get it back to the right temperature. He turned it back slightly to the right, and put his hand under the stream only to pull it away when it felt ice-cold on his fingers. Frowning, he pushed the handle ever so slightly to the left, only to find the water just as unbearable as before. Aziraphale sighed, knowing that if he ever wanted to finish his shower he would have to ask for Crowley’s help.

He put the robe that was hanging in the bathroom on before walking up to the door and saying softly, “Crowley? Are you still there?”

“Yes, angel.” Crowley’s voice sounded openly amused, not trying to hide it anymore.

“Could you-,” Aziraphale took a deep breath before continuing, “Could you turn the water back to the way it was?”

“Of course, angel.”

Two days later, Aziraphale found himself staring longingly through the curtains outside at the bright London morning. He had spent the better parts of two weeks inside his room, and though he was never one to repeatedly go outside, he desperately wanted to go out to stretch his legs and enjoy some fresh air while there was still daylight.

“Are you sure we can’t go out yet, Crowley?” Aziraphale shouted to him, who was busing himself trying to make some coffee. 

Aziraphale heard what sounded like a cup being sat down before footsteps began to sound down the hallway, and Crowley emerged in the doorway.

“No, your eyes are still way too sensitive for the light outside.” Crowley almost sounded mournful, like he too wanted to take a brisk walk in the warm afternoon.

Aziraphale sighed, and watched as people walked along on the sidewalks, children laughing and playing gleefully as if they didn’t have a care in the world. He watched the trees sway with the wind, causing some loose leaves to fall to the ground below.

There was the sound of a snap behind him, and Aziraphale turned his head to see Crowley’s hand in the air. Aziraphale gave him a confused look.

“We could try to go outside now, angel.” Crowley said with a small smile.

Eyebrows furrowed, Aziraphale looked outside to see the once sunny day darkened by black rain clouds, ones that seemed to carry the promise of rain but, in this case, would never dare.

Aziraphale felt his eyes soften as he turned back to Crowley, a brilliant smile playing on his lips.

“Thank you, my dear.”

They spent a lovely afternoon outside, Aziraphale basking in the cool air and repeatedly looking over at Crowley to smile at him again. They ate at their favorite coffee shop, Crowley with his black coffee and Aziraphale ordering a small cookie, not wanting to push himself too much. They sat and talked for a while, reminiscing at old memories and re-sparking old arguments to bicker for the sake of bickering with no real ill will intended. Eventually, the conversation bled from debating to talks of the future.

“I’m beginning to wonder if maybe it’s time to move out of London.” Aziraphale said, looking at the fountain that sat in front of them outside.

Crowley, who had just begun to bring his coffee to his lips, froze, and said, “Where would you go?”

“Oh, I’m not even too terribly sure, haven’t really thought much of it. I just figured it’s time for a change for us, after everything that’s happened.”

Crowley seemed to relax when he heard ‘us’, taking a sip of his coffee before setting it down. They sat in silence for a few moments, Aziraphale enjoying the crisp autumn day around them and Crowley deep in thought.

“Am I in that future?” Crowley said softly.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale turned his head slightly towards Crowley, not having heard what he just asked.

“Am I in that future where you, you know, leave London.” Crowley’s voice was stronger than it was before, like someone deciding that they weren’t letting what they want slip out of their hands.

Aziraphale turned his full attention to Crowley, carefully studying his face. His lips were pressed together tightly, and Aziraphale wished Crowley wasn’t wearing his sunglasses so he could see what exactly was going through his mind. When Aziraphale had suggested leaving London, he had meant him _and_ Crowley, not even thinking for a second that they would be separated. Sure, a few thousand years ago they moved around without telling the other, always seeming to find each other again before too much time had passed. This was different. The past eleven years had been different, the past two weeks had been different. Aziraphale really didn’t want to spend any time apart from Crowley; he had gotten so used to his regular presence that imagining more than a few days without him caused his chest to tighten.

“Oh most certainly, my dear. We’re on our own side, remember?” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley, hoping whatever was plaguing his mind would be eased away.

Crowley visibly relaxed, nodding his head while he looked at the scene in front of them. There was something in this conversation that was different; the air around them seemed more tense, as if there was something that was needed to be discussed that wasn’t coming to light. The both of them sat there, both feeling the same way but not wanting to alert the other of what was going on. While yes, they would ultimately have to try to figure out what exactly they were to each other, but not yet. Neither of them was ready to take that first step yet, ready to accept what they had felt for the other.

They eventually decided that it was time to leave, both standing at the same time without addressing what had just happened. They walked along the sidewalk, resuming their relaxed conversations and Aziraphale smiling uncontrollably. After a few minutes, they saw the entrance the park, and Aziraphale excitedly grabbed Crowley’s arm and told him how lovely it would be to take a quick stroll through before they headed home. Crowley could only half hear him, though, trying not to focus on the electricity buzzing on the spot where Aziraphale was touching his arm and his heart doing a funny flip when Aziraphale referred to the bookshop their home.

Crowley nodded, and felt his knees go a little week when Aziraphale kept his hand on Crowley’s arm, wrapping his arm in the crook of his elbow as they walked along and enjoyed the views of the park. Their conversations seemed to die down, with only Aziraphale pointing out things to look at while saying ‘oh look at that my dear’ or ‘isn’t that just lovely?’. Crowley nodded every time, not quite as excited as Aziraphale but enjoying this peaceful day just the same.

Aziraphale went quiet and stopped when he noticed a particular scene in front of him that bothered him. There was a younger woman, around mid-twenties, who seemed to be trying very hard to walk away from an only slightly older gentleman who didn’t seem very keen on letting her past. She looked extremely uncomfortable, and anyone but the man could see she did _not_ enjoy his presence one bit.

“Come on, just _one_ drink! That’s not too much to ask, right?” The man smiled smugly, as if he thought he was being as suave as could be.

The girl shook her head before saying, “No, I- I have a boyfriend now _please for the love of God leave me alone_.”

She began to push past him, walking as fast as she could before the man ran after her.

“Hey get back here! I’m not done with you!”

“That man is truly a menace.” Aziraphale said disapprovingly.

“Disgusting is what I think fits better,” Crowley paused before he had a small realization and said, “Well, you _could_ do something about it, angel.”

Aziraphale blinked, realizing Crowley was right.

“Heaven never did like me getting involved in what they deemed to be minor  
inconveniences in humans.”

“Heaven isn’t here, are they?”

He nodded, turning his attention back to the man who was still trying to keep up with the woman’s now jogging pace. He hadn’t used his powers since the Fall, and he assumed this was why Crowley was pushing him to perform this miracle rather than he. He took a deep breath and, with a gesture of his hand, performed his first demonic miracle. The man fell over, as if he had just run into an invisible wall, holding his head and saying something about how he thought his nose was broken. The girl took this opportunity to increase her jogging pace to a full-on sprint, getting out of the park before the man could notice she was gone.

Aziraphale would have been delighted in his actions if he had not been gasping in shock at how different his powers felt. He leaned on Crowley for support, and Crowley grasped Aziraphale’s arm, asking him if he was alright.

When an angel performs a miracle, it feels almost like a river, like a warm, flowing burst of love running through their veins before escaping their body to perform the miracle at hand. Demonic miracles, however, were slightly more intense. It felt more like a burst of energy, from something in your core exploding out from your limbs. The mere intensity was enough to make Aziraphale feel like he was going to pass out, and before he knew it he was back in his room, Crowley quickly sitting him down on the bed.

“Angel what’s wrong?” His hands had found themselves on Aziraphale’s shoulders, trying to steady the already swaying Aziraphale.

“I- I’m fine, my dear, I- I think the miracle was just a lot for me take in at the moment, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a sad smile.

Crowley’s face melted from concern to relief to remorse. He let go of Aziraphale’s shoulders and turned towards the wall, not looking at Aziraphale.

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale, I shouldn’t have pushed you, I, I just wanted to help.” He looked down at the ground, clearly angry and frustrated with himself.

If Aziraphale could, he would have stood up and collected Crowley into his chest, telling him that it was alright, that this wasn’t a big deal. However, every sudden movement caused his head to spin more, so he settled on reaching for Crowley’s hand and holding it in a tight grip.

“Crowley, my dear, don’t even worry about it- _look at me Crowley_,” He only continued when Crowley finally looked up to meet his gaze, “You did help me- you _are_ helping me! Without you this transition wouldn’t have gone as smooth as it has, and besides, I don’t regret helping that girl. I’d far rather be here, exhausted, with her far away from that nuisance than to be out there and her to still have to deal with him.”

Crowley merely nodded his head, still not keen on forgiving himself. Aziraphale bit his lip, knowing he had to pull Crowley out of this now before he was stuck brooding for the rest of the evening.

He pulled gently on Crowley’s arm, bringing him in to sit next to him. Crowley sat down with surprise, and Aziraphale quickly placed his head on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Can you tell me more about how you ‘started’ the American Revolution?”

Crowley didn’t do anything at first, too surprised at Aziraphale’s sudden push. He finally wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, and leaned his own head on top of Aziraphale’s.

“Sure, angel.”

—————————————————————————-

After three weeks, things had returned to the way that they had been before the Fall. Aziraphale went back to running his bookshop, keeping up opening at odd hours and finding ways to convince consumers that they didn’t _really_ want the book they’d been so keen on buying a moment earlier. Aziraphale slid back into his habit of not sleeping, and began to return to spending time reading for hours in his den. The only change that was present was Crowley; he never left. After the transition of Falling had clearly ended, Crowley made some excuses to stay, saying he just wanted to make sure Aziraphale was okay, wanted to make sure no surprises happened while he was away. While Aziraphale knew perfectly well that these were, in fact, excuses, he didn’t push it. He allowed Crowley to stay in the bookshop and sleep in his bed at night while Aziraphale took stock of the changes Adam had done to the bookshop.

During the day while Aziraphale worked, Crowley would disappear into the back of the bookshop, and Aziraphale would find books placed back on the bookshelf where he knew they hadn’t been before in the areas Crowley visited. He would smile to himself, not going to rub it in to Crowley that Aziraphale had been right about the whole reading business but still pleased with  
himself regardless.

At night, they would dine out, picking new restaurants that they had never tried before. Sometimes when Aziraphale would see something unpleasant, such as a rude customer towards the waiter or a nasty argument between patrons, Crowley would give Aziraphale a knowing look, and Aziraphale would wave his hand and the whole thing would be resolved. Aziraphale quickly grew into his powers, getting used to the new feeling they gave whenever a miracle was  
performed.

One day, while Aziraphale was working in the bookshop and Crowley was somewhere in the back, a woman came into the shop.

There was nothing extraordinary about this woman; she appeared to be middle-aged, had her dark, greying brown hair pulled up into a bun, and was wearing a light brown jacket that seemed to have been in fashion ten years ago. Though Aziraphale could sense that this woman was simply human and therefore couldn’t be a threat, he couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling that  
said she was going to be trouble somehow.

She looked around carefully, like a huntress looking for her prey before she finally found it when she made eye contact with Aziraphale.

“You must be Mr. Fell!” The woman excitably walked up to him, holding her hand out for a handshake, “My niece has told me all about your shop, and how I absolutely must come and check it out.”

Aziraphale shook her hand, his uneasy feeling growing when she lingered her hand in his for longer than appropriate.

“Well, I’m pleased that your niece spoke so highly of this place and that you decided to stop by, Mrs.?” Aziraphale wore a polite smile, one that did not speak to how he truly felt inside.

“Ms. Gillen, but you can call me Jennifer.” She flashed him a flirtatious smile, and Aziraphale knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Jennifer. What kind of book are you looking for today?” Aziraphale was trying to move this along, trying to get this woman out of his shop before she tried anything.

“Oh, I haven’t got a clue! I was hoping you’d help me find what I wanted.” She looked him up and down, making Aziraphale wish he was anywhere but here.

“Well, uh, we have all sorts of collections of books, I’m sure one of them is bound to meet your fancy. Why don’t you follow me?” Aziraphale began to walk hurriedly, not interested in actually helping her but wanting to get her as far away as possible.

He guided her towards a few shelves in the back, gesturing while he said, “This is an excellent place to start, lots of good ones here. Let me know if you need any help.”

With that he began to walk back towards the front of the shop, hoping Jennifer would take the hint and leave him be. She, unfortunately, didn’t, and grabbed Aziraphale’s arm before he could properly walk off.

“Wait!” She started to move her hand slowly up and down Aziraphale’s arm before saying, “I still need your help over here.”

Aziraphale froze, ready to take her hand off of him and politely tell her he was not interested, when the familiar voice of Crowley came down the aisle they were at.

“Aziraphale!” He shouted before he stopped next to Aziraphale, grabbing his hand, “Angel, good news. I just got off the phone with the jeweler and he said that your ring would be ready today.”

Aziraphale looked at him with confused eyes, but he could see clearly in Crowley’s yellow eyes that he was asking him to trust him.

“Ah, I guess that is good news.” Aziraphale still felt uncertain, but was glad that Crowley was here to help.

Jennifer’s hand had stopped moving down his arm, stopping at his elbow as if she was ready to pull him towards her and away from Crowley.

“Ah, who’s this?” Her expression was tight, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

“Oh, uh, this is Anthony Crowley-”

“His husband.” Crowley interrupted, not breaking eye contact with Jennifer.  
Aziraphale felt it was harder to breathe when Crowley said that, his heart growing warmer by the second.

“Is that so?” She looked at Aziraphale as if she wasn’t going to believe it unless he himself confirmed it.

“Indeed.” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley a quick peck on the cheek to seal the deal.

Crowley’s cheeks turned slightly pink when Aziraphale’s lips touched his skin, but he refused to look away from Jennifer.

“Where’s your ring, then?” Jennifer’s grip wavered ever so slightly on Aziraphale’s arm.

Uh oh. _Busted_.

“Ah, yes, about that-”

“He had to get his resized. He’s lost a lot of weight, stress of the job I suppose,” He turned and flashed a smile at Aziraphale before locking his stony gaze back on the woman, “But thankfully we’ll be getting the ring back today.”

Jennifer looked between the two men, before both Aziraphale and her noticed that Crowley was wearing a gold band on his wedding finger, a sight that Aziraphale hadn’t known he’d wanted until now. Jennifer’s gaze turned mournful and she tore her hand from Aziraphale’s arm, walking away while muttering some excuse as to why she had to leave so suddenly. The two stood there for a second, not daring to move until the heard the bell to the door ring, signaling she was gone.

They didn’t release their hands from each other for a solid minute and a half, before Aziraphale broke the silence by thanking Crowley. Crowley dropped his hand, muttering ‘you’d do the same for me’ while he put his sunglasses back on and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

“Angel, we have to see your wings.” Crowley stood behind Aziraphale in the bathroom, his arms crossed with frustration while he argued with the former angel.

“Maybe next week! They’re still awfully sore, and, uh, well, I’d hate to damage them further.” Aziraphale didn’t look at Crowley’s reflection in the mirror while he spoke, knowing that Crowley would be able to detect his lie by only looking at him.

He had, in fact, been lying for about two weeks now. Crowley had absent-mindedly told him that by now his feathers would have been grown in, and that they really needed to take care of them before they got too out of hand. Aziraphale had brushed past it and changed the subject before they could decide on checking his wings, but that didn’t stop Crowley from bringing it up again. Each time Crowley mentioned it, Aziraphale made up some excuse, saying he didn’t feel up to it, he needed more time, he was too tired, etc. Crowley would nod and would give about two days before he brought it up again, receiving the same response every time but not pushing it. That is, until now.

The truth was that Aziraphale didn’t want to see his wings; didn’t want to see the tar-black feathers they were now. Even though Aziraphale knew that he had Fallen, had gone through the whole transition and was now a, well, _demon_, he still hadn’t accepted it fully. When the pain had hit he hadn’t had time to ponder about the truth, and when the pain faded away and the thoughts began he pushed it into the back of his mind, into a safe little drawer that he kept locked and decided that he would look later, but not now. Things were back to normal, and despite the fact that his powers felt different, the fact that his entire being felt heavier and had lost the sense of holiness that he had been used to carrying around for six thousand years, he just wasn’t ready to be faced with the truth. He wanted to go on pretending he was still an angel, pretending that nothing had changed, that he was fine with this and that he would never need to think about it.

“Aziraphale, I’ve heard _enough_ of your excuses. We’re doing this _now_, angel. Whether you like it or not.” He sauntered closer to Aziraphale, his bright exposed yellow eyes telling him there was no out this time.

Aziraphale swallowed, and closed his eyes. If he was being forced to do this, which he _was_, he was _not_ going to look. He took a deep breath, and slowly unfurled his wings. They didn’t feel any different, maybe just a soft echo of soreness here and there, but other than that he couldn’t tell if there had been any changes.

Crowley didn’t say anything; instead, he dove his hands into Aziraphale’s wings to do some desperately needed grooming.

—————————————————————

It took Crowley two hours to comb through Aziraphale’s feathers, to pluck out the loose ones and comb the others into place. Aziraphale kept his eyes closed the whole time, still silently determined to avoid the truth that was right there in front of him.

“Alright, angel,” Crowley moved his way from behind Aziraphale to sit on the counter to next to him, “Your wings are looking immaculate, as usual. I mean, not to gloat or anything, but I do think I did a pretty good job if I _do_ say so myself.”

“You’re a demon, I think you have to gloat.” Aziraphale was teasing, a playful smile playing on his lips.

“Is that so? In that case I did a _magnificent _job, no other celestial being could have done better than Anthony J. Crowley himself.”

“Will you ever tell me what that J stands for?” Aziraphale still had his eyes closed, but was enjoying the light-hearted banter that was going on between the two of them.

“Never. It’s just a J, remember?” Aziraphale could hear the smile in Crowley’s voice.

A slight chuckled passed between them, before Crowley said, “Angel, open your eyes, judge my work for yourself.”

Aziraphale shook his head all too enthusiastically, leading Crowley to start to sense what was going on.

“Aziraphale,” he felt Crowley place his hand on top of his, a comforting touch, “You’re going to have to face this eventually. The sooner you get this over with, the better.”

Aziraphale knew deep down that Crowley was right. He knew that he could fold his wings back, and open his eyes without seeing them and though Crowley might make a few comments, wouldn’t push him to do it. He knew that he could go on in this ignorant bliss, where he got to play make-believe and pretend he was still something that he was no longer.

He also knew that lying to himself would only hurt more when he was forced to face his reality. Aziraphale let out a shaky breath. He didn’t want to do this.

Aziraphale felt Crowley squeeze his hand, and murmur ‘I’m here, I’m right here’ quietly. Aziraphale sighed, straightened himself up a bit, and opened his eyes.

A shock ran through him as he saw his still white wings not tainted with any speck of darkness. He brought his wings closer to himself, trying to see where the shadow of his Fall began and when he couldn’t find it, he gave Crowley an accusatory glance.

“Did you- did you do this?” Aziraphale appreciated Crowley’s help, but did _not_ want Crowley to baby him, to help him bury his truth when he had just convinced him to dig it up.

“Angel, I promise, I had nothing to do with this.” Crowley held his hands up as if he were at gunpoint, his face portraying that he really was innocent.

Aziraphale’s confusion must have been written all over his face because Crowley let out a small chuckle and said, “We can choose what color our feathers are, Aziraphale. That’s the difference between Heaven and Hell- Heaven requires all of its angels to have white wings to prove that they’re ‘pure as the driven snow’, or whatever. Hell doesn’t really care about what color you choose, as long as it’s not white, I suppose.”

Aziraphale couldn’t speak for a second, still trying to process what Crowley had said to him. Sure, he had known Heaven had liked its uniformity; it’s why Aziraphale was always required to keep his hair short, his clothes pressed and his presence formal. He didn’t realize that, after all this time, he had had some hidden power of choice that Heaven had kept from him, from everyone. It shouldn’t have surprised him; he’d seen enough of the real side of Heaven in the last few months that he should have nodded and thought ‘yes, I suspect that sounds like them’, but he didn’t, the truth still made him blink a few times.

It hit him, in that moment, how _glad_ he was that he was no longer serving Heaven. For the better part of six thousand years, they had bossed him around. They had told him how to act, what to believe, who to hate, and what to say. They had mocked him for being so fond of the world, and even tried to kill him when he succeeded in saving it. They were hypocrites that cared more about their pride than the innocent lives of millions of people, cared more about that they were the best and weren’t above bullying a child to get what they wanted. That wasn’t the Heaven he had believed in, the Heaven that he’d been willing to sacrifice everything for to serve and protect.

Was Hell better though? The thought pulled the breaks on his rising anger towards Heaven. In reality, no, it wasn’t. Yes, they let their agents roam around Earth more freely, let them do pretty much anything they wanted as long as the paperwork was short and they were at least attempting to sin. The majority of Hell, however, was still, well, _Hell_. The demons that lived there were corrupt, did not care for human life or the Earth, did not care for decadent desserts and taste of wine. They, just like Heaven, had been more than ready to mow down the Earth to make way for a glorious battle that really, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t matter.

Aziraphale’s heart stung, and he began to feel the loss that he’d been denying himself for so long. He had loved being an angel; as much as he found his newfound hate in Heaven powerful, he couldn’t deny that fact. Couldn’t deny how much he loved feeling God’s love and power flow through him, and how much it hurt when he looked inside him now and found it missing. He had loved being able to help a lost child find their mother, miracle a starving single mother money so she could feed her kids and find a place for them to be safe, loved helping God’s creatures in such a pure and loving way.

Aziraphale sobbed, the small sting in his chest evolving into a deep festering wound.

“Hey,” Crowley picked up Aziraphale’s hand again, placing the other on top of it too, “It’s okay, you’re okay. I know- I know it’s hard, but trust me it gets easier. Just give it a little time.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, the very person that Aziraphale had given up a part of himself that he had loved so dearly just to be with him. As he stared, small thoughts of doubt began to run through his head, making him wonder for the first time if he had done the right thing. Had he made a too rash decision? Aziraphale had felt fairly confident in his choice when he had first made it, but now, facing the consequences, had he made a mistake?

He stared into Crowley’s sympathetic yellow eyes, as if he were trying to find the answer to his questions there. Crowley, who had never given up on him, despite six thousand years of Aziraphale pushing him away, letting him get close before he hurt him again. Crowley, who always picked up the phone when Aziraphale called, had stood by his side before the Devil himself, and had put himself in Aziraphale’s court long before the apocalypse began. The Crowley who had wanted to run away together, and didn’t give a second thought or care about who would come after them. The Crowley that loved him and stayed with him through all of this.

Aziraphale had always speculated if Crowley had felt the same way as him. There was always Crowley giving him certain looks when he thought Aziraphale wasn’t looking, said things with a tone that made Aziraphale wonder. Of course, with Heaven and Hell being a constant threat, Aziraphale never found the courage to try to bring it up, to try to figure out what Crowley’s intentions were. After a while, Aziraphale had fooled himself into believing he was merely interesting, a distraction from the monotony of eternity. Then the apocalypse happened. Crowley had tried, and failed, twice to get Aziraphale to come with him, to leave everything behind and have it just be _them_. While Aziraphale hadn’t been one hundred percent sure, he felt as though Crowley was silently saying ‘I love you’ to Aziraphale in these moments, trying to express himself in a safe, non-direct way.

Then he had Fallen. Crowley had come through for him, like he always did, and had cared for him. He stayed through the nights, stayed with him through the hard parts. Aziraphale could feel the love pouring from Crowley when he had cupped his face, had wiped away his tears and promised he wasn’t leaving. He silently kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. Aziraphale had been tempted to tell him he felt the same, that he wasn’t alone, but something in him told him it wasn’t the right time, wasn’t the right way. He’d tried to do it discreetly, hold Crowley’s hand when unnecessary and sit closer than they used to. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if Crowley could sense their relationship changing, could see the ways Aziraphale was trying to say ‘I love you’ in his actions, but hoped that he could and was trying to find the right moment to say it back to him.

_Were on our own side._

Crowley had spoken these words in what felt like a lifetime ago, and Aziraphale had repeated them again that day in the café, believing in their truth. Yet, here he was, doubting them once again like he always did, and here Crowley sat, holding his hand and telling him that he was going to be alright while Aziraphale doubted if he had been worth Falling for.

There was always truth in those words; they had always been on their own side. Right from the beginning, when they both stood on the wall at Eden, they had chosen then. Crowley had never been a proper demon, always doing minor temptations that would never seriously hurt anyone. He cared deeply for the human race, cared deeply for all the earth’s creatures even if he didn’t care to admit it. Demons weren’t supposed to be capable of love, and yet here he was, sitting on Aziraphale’s bathroom counter and holding his hand with all the support in the world.

It was also true that Aziraphale had been a lousy angel. He continuously ‘fraternized’ with the enemy, always delighting in his presence and inviting him to dinner. He hadn’t minded planting seeds of doubt into human’s minds, causing some temptation when he was supposed to be above it. Not only that, but he had been willing to kill a _child_, had been the one to aim the gun towards Adam and was only prevented from doing so when Madame Tracey stopped him.

He was never truly an angel, not even before the apocalypse. Even now, he wasn’t quite a demon, either. Aziraphale felt a weight lift from his chest as he realized it didn’t _matter_ what he was; angel, demon, human, whatever, it didn’t _matter_. They were like name tags, helping you to identify who you were looking at but not telling you anything about the person. Aziraphale was more than just an angel or demon; he was a being who loved reading old books, enjoyed the taste of crepes, relished in seeing how the world changed and how people could still be kind to one another. Being a demon didn’t change any of those things- he was still distinctly him, still Aziraphale, and whatever the universe decided to categorize him as didn’t do anything to affect him.

“I am a demon.” Aziraphale’s voice was confident, tears beginning to pour freely down his cheeks.

“You are a demon.” Crowley repeated.

Aziraphale stared at himself for a while, feeling the freest he had felt in his entire existence.

“Listen, angel, we don’t have to figure this all out now- here, why don’t we go back to bed. I’ll read you that book you love- what was it, the one with the kid and the-”

“How do I change my wings?”

“What?”

“You said we could change our wing color; how does one do that?” Aziraphale still maintained eye contact with himself in the mirror, not looking away.

Crowley blinked, not expecting Aziraphale’s sudden request.

“Maybe this is a bit much now, why don’t we wait a little bit longer for you to grow accustomed to yourself.” Crowley wasn’t aware of the epiphany that Aziraphale had just had, wasn’t aware that the tears that were streaming from Aziraphale’s soft blue eyes were tears of joy, not loss. Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley, a confident smile plastered on his lips.

“I’m ready now, my dear.”

Crowley’s eyes scanned Aziraphale’s face, trying to find something in his face that would prove Aziraphale was ready, wrestling with himself to see if this was the right choice. After a small eternity, Crowley nodded his head, seemingly pleased with whatever he had seen on Aziraphale’s face.

“It’s not hard, really. All you’ve got to do is just close your eyes, and imagine what color you’d like. Feels similar to preforming a miracle, I suppose.” 

Crowley removed one of his hand’s from Aziraphale, and began rhythmically drumming his fingers on the countertop in the way he did when he was anxious about something.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and began to wonder what color he should do. Blue? No, that would be too obnoxious. Maybe a light pink? No, not quite him either. He tossed around a few more colors in his mind, all being similarly rejected before he thought of one that he felt fit him quite nicely.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, and focused on imagining his wings changing, being dipped in the color that he could easily envision in his mind. He imagined each feather getting a fair coat, dripping with new life as the color came down on them.

A small, tingling sensation began in his back, followed by the rest of his wings. He smiled, knowing that this was the right decision, he had made the right choice.

“Looks good, Aziraphale.” He heard Crowley say.

Aziraphale was pleased to see that it had worked once he opened his eyes. His once white wings were now tainted grey, a choice that was not accidental.

“May I ask, why grey?” Crowley asked, trying to seem nonchalant but Aziraphale could hear the curiosity burning in his voice.

“Well, my dear,” Aziraphale turned his head from his reflection to look at Crowley, “I’m no longer an angel, and while I technically am a demon, I’m not quite that, either. I guess I’m a little bit of both.”

Crowley smiled, and squeezed his hand.

“Wait a minute,” Aziraphale frowned, “Does this mean that you _willingly_ chose to have your wings black?”

Crowley started, before saying, “What’s wrong with black? It’s stylish, not that you would know anything about that.”

“Oh good _Lord_.” Aziraphale scoffed.

They continued for a good half hour like that, lightly debated with each other about who had the better sense of fashion and teasing the other about the atrocities they had worn throughout the years. When they finally called it a draw, Crowley went to lie down, surprised when Aziraphale followed and slept closer to him in the night.

—————————————————————-

A small knock on the bookshop door had Crowley groaning in annoyance. Aziraphale had closed up shop when he had left to go to the store, and had Crowley stay home since it wouldn’t take him long. Crowley had made himself comfortable on the couch in the back of the bookshop, not particularly keen on getting up any time soon. Crowley ignored it, and hoped whoever was there would get the message that they were _closed_ and would leave him be.

Unfortunately for Crowley, the knocking persisted, annoying him enough to hurl himself off the couch to give a decent yell at whoever was there to _sod off_. Crowley threw open the door, his mouth ready to start screaming profanities when he paused, surprised at who was there.

“Anathema?” Crowley blinked, as if his eyes betrayed him.

Anathema was standing in front of the bookshop, Newt behind her and giving Crowley an awkward wave.

“What are you doing here?”

Crowley hadn’t talked to Anathema in a while, not since Aziraphale’s Fall. Before then, Crowley had been surprised that he tolerated Anathema’s presence, dare he say, even sometimes enjoyed going over to her house to drink coffee or sometimes something stronger and discuss the  
past six thousand years.

“I’m here to check up on Aziraphale,” She paused when she saw Crowley’s left hand, smiling when she saw the gold band that Crowley had neglected to take off, “I see you’ve made your move.”

Anathema stared at him with intelligent eyes, not wavering even when Crowley glared at her. Getting drunk in her presence was _definitely_ a mistake, one that had caused him to open up about how he had felt about Aziraphale before he could think to himself that this was possibly a bad idea.

“_No_, I’m just, waiting for him to get back from the store.” Crowley moved away from the door, inviting Anathema and Newt in without having to say anything.

“We’ll wait with you, then.” Anathema waved Newt inside, who had become distracted with a loud barking dog outside.

“So tell me, what’s the reason you’re checking up on Aziraphale?” Crowley leaned on the wall, trying to seem like Anathema’s presence hadn’t rattled him.

“It’s been a while since I heard from him, and since he Fell, I just wanted to double-check on him. He didn’t sound too good last time we talked.” She bit her lip in concern, looking around the room as if Crowley was hiding Aziraphale from her.

“He- he told you? When?” Crowley was genuinely surprised; he knew Aziraphale liked Anathema and insisted on keeping up with her, he didn’t think that their relationship had been close enough for him to confess to her. Hell, when did he even speak with her? He’d been with Aziraphale for over a month now, and had never seen him sneak away to make a phone call.

“Maybe about a week after he Fell? I called, wanting to invite you guys over, and he answered. He was quiet on the phone, said you were asleep but didn’t want to wake you. He sounded pained, and when I asked him what was wrong, well it took a little prodding but he finally opened up about it.”

“Oh. So he, did he tell you everything?” Crowley had stopped leaning on the wall, and started to move closer to Anathema.

“Yes,” She paused, “Wait, did he tell _you_ everything?”

“Wha- _of course he told me everything-_ you _really _think I wouldn’t have been able to figure out what happened?” Crowley stopped walking, pausing in front of her.

Anathema took a breath of relief before saying, “Yeah, Aziraphale’s always been such a bad liar. I told him that on the phone, you know, that you weren’t an idiot and would figure out sooner than later. I told him it would be better to just be honest with you, rather than to try to hide the truth.”

Crowley felt his breathing stop, a small bubble of anxiety and confusion beginning to grow in his chest.

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

Anathema blinked, realization hitting her face.

“You mean- he didn’t tell you?” Anathema looked like someone who had just  
accidentally confessed to murder.

“Didn’t tell me what? Anathema, _what didn’t he tell me_?” Crowley tried to make himself look as intimidating as possible, but Anathema furrowed her eyebrows, not looking at Crowley as she realized she might have let something slip.

Before Crowley could come up with a threat he didn’t mean to try to get Anathema to tell him what she knew, a loud bang caused Anathema to jump out of her thoughts. She looked at Newt who had clumsily dropped a book and was trying to pick it up while causing more to fall around him.

Crowley didn’t pay attention to that; he was more concerned with why Aziraphale had been hiding something from him after all this time.

“_Anathema_.” Crowley growled, trying to get her attention back.

“What’s the reason he told you he Fell?” Anathema asked when she finally turned back to him.

“He said that Heaven was still mad at him for what we did, and so as punishment, made him Fall, saying he was no longer welcome.” Crowley’s breathing was getting harder, as he realized that might not have been the case.

“Oh. Well, we have to go. Newt, honey? We’re leaving. Tell Aziraphale to call me back!” She turned and started walking towards the door, Newt quickly placing a book he had been looking at back on the shelf and running after her.

“Anathema, wait!” Crowley grabbed her arm, not tightly or angrily, but more out of desperation.

“Anathema, _please_,” Crowley regretted not wearing his sunglasses, because he knew that Anathema could see every ounce of fear in Crowley’s eyes, “What isn’t he telling me?”

She paused, debating whether or not she should speak. Her face finally settled when she said, “Ask your husband when he gets home. He’ll tell you.”

With that, she gently ripped her arm from Crowley’s grip, and left him there with his mind racing.

What was Aziraphale hiding from him? The past two months, Crowley had felt, was the closest they’d ever been with each other. They had been in constant contact for the past eleven years, but this? This was different. They had opened up to each other, they had been _vulnerable _with one another. Crowley had felt that they had truly started being on their own side, and not just something he told himself to reassure him. Crowley couldn’t help but feel hurt that Aziraphale didn’t trust him enough to tell the truth.

It had to be about the reason why Aziraphale had Fallen. Why else would Anathema have asked him? Crowley began pacing, trying to get to figure out what was going on. Crowley hadn’t suspected Aziraphale had been lying because why lie? If anything, he would have expected a lie about Falling itself, but not the reason for it. What could be so bad about the reason he had Fallen? His thoughts led him to the idea that perhaps Heaven hadn’t forced him; maybe he had decided on that day that he just simply didn’t want to be an angel anymore and decided to Fall. No, that couldn’t be it. Crowley had seen Aziraphale grieve for his lost title, grieve for the righteousness he once held.

Crowley drummed his fingers on the wall, trying to find a reason or a solution but always coming up empty. None of this made sense, there was no other _logical_ explanation to rationalize why Aziraphale had Fallen.

Unless….

No. Aziraphale couldn’t have, he wouldn’t have. Right? Aziraphale wasn’t _that_ stupid. No, wouldn’t have done that. He was far too smart to do that. There had to be another reason, a simple explanation that he just couldn’t think of at the moment. As much as he tried to move his mind on, a small gut feeling told him he wasn’t far off from the truth.

Crowley sat himself in a chair that hadn’t existed in the den a moment prior, holding his head in his hands as he tried to think of anything else and failed.

Crowley heard the door open, and Aziraphale’s familiar voice fill the empty bookshop.

“Crowley, dear? The store was unfortunately out of the coffee you like,” Aziraphale’s voice grew louder and then softer as he moved away, walking towards the stairs, “I grabbed that other coffee, the one that you said smelled like sulfur but you still drank? I hope that’s alright.”

Crowley heard Aziraphale climb the stairs, heard him set the groceries down in the kitchen before he called out again.

“Crowley? Where are you?” He heard Aziraphale walk down the stairs, and finally made it to the den where he saw Crowley in his wretched state.

“Crowley? What’s wrong?” He made his way quickly to where Crowley sat, kneeling before him.

“You had some visitors, angel.” Crowley’s voice came out small.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Who?”

“Anathema. And Newt.” Crowley wanted so badly to get to the point, to ask Aziraphale what he was hiding but feared the answer he would receive.

“Crowley, I don’t understand what this has to do with why you’re so upset.”

“She said some pretty interesting things, angel.”

Aziraphale paused, his face settling into understanding as he realized what most likely happened.

“What did she say, Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice came out in a whisper, as if he was too afraid to say it.

“She said you were hiding something from me, Aziraphale,” Crowley stood up, walking past him, “She said you lied to me.”

“Crowley…”

“What was the real reason why you Fell? And _don’t you dare_ try to lie to me again.” Crowley spun around suddenly, looking at Aziraphale intensely.

Aziraphale stood, staring at Crowley with a torn expression before he sighed and his expression changed to defeat.

“That day, Heaven _did_ come to the bookshop, but they didn’t force me to Fall. They gave me two options, neither very attractive.” Aziraphale watched Crowley carefully as he spoke, as if he was scared that he would explode at any second.

“What were your choices?” Crowley asked, the anger in his voice gone.

“I could return to Heaven indefinitely, and be forced to work with desk duty, or remain here on Earth, but I could never speak to you again.”

“Why didn’t you choose just to remain on Earth? We’ve been hiding our friendship for six thousand years already, for Someone’s sake! We could have kept going, as if nothing happened!” Crowley felt his anger rising again, not necessarily at Aziraphale but at the possibility that he had put himself through so much unnecessary pain.

“No, Crowley, it’s not that simple. They were going to assign someone to be my partner, to watch my every move. We _couldn’t _have been able to sneak off together, no matter how hard we tried.”

“We- we would have figured _something_ out angel, we always _do_,” Crowley felt absolutely miserable, and he knew it was slipping into his voice, “I would’ve tried to break you out of Heaven, or away from whatever angel they stuck you with!”

“I know you would have, Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice was calm, soothing even, “Which is why if I had made either of those choices, you would have died. Heaven would have eliminated you for interfering, and where would that have left me? Alone, and feeling even more terrible because I knew that you weren’t out there, _somewhere_ in the world.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, a small feeling of self-hate beginning to bubble in his chest as he realized what Aziraphale was going to say next. Crowley groaned, and turned his head so his forehead was leaning on the cool doorframe of the den.

“Crowley, I..”

“Don’t,” Crowley choked out, “Don’t say it.”

“Don’t say the reason I Fell? Crowley, you push me into saying it and then the moment it comes you _don’t_ want me to speak? I don’t understand you sometimes, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s tone shifted from calming to annoyance.

Crowley shifted his head just enough so he could see Aziraphale while still touching the door frame.

“Don’t say _I’m_ the reason why you Fell.” Crowley hated that he didn’t have his  
sunglasses on, hated that tears where beginning to form in his eyes and that Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he could see the pain that was written all over his face.

“It- it wasn’t _just_ you, Crowley.” Crowley moaned, and moved to sit down at the small table and placed his head in his hands again as Aziraphale continued, not really listening.

Aziraphale sat down in the chair next to Crowley as he said, “I did it for _me_, more importantly. I did it because I was _tired_ of following a Heaven that no longer existed, of being told what to do and who to love and who to _hate_, Crowley. I did it because I wanted my own life, free of _them_.”

“But you _loved_ being an angel.” Crowley said through his hands.

“That is true, but, Crowley this was _my_ decision, not yours. I, I don’t understand why you’re so terribly worked up about this.”

“I’m upset about this because, because,” Crowley took his head out of his hands to look at Aziraphale, but when he saw his blue eyes he couldn’t quite get the words out.

“Because _what_, Crowley?”

“Because I’m not worth all of this!” Crowley exclaimed, tears escaping his eyes before he could do anything about them, “I’m not worth the pain you had to go through, what you lost. I’m not, I’m not that valuable.”

Aziraphale looked at him with horror-filled eyes before he said, “Crowley, you must know that that’s not true, _none_ of that is true! You are worth _so_ much, Crowley. And while the transition was awfully painful, if I had to do it again to be able to see you, I would do it in a _heartbeat_.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a miserable look, still not believing in what he was saying.

“Don’t say that, Aziraphale. It’s bad enough that you had to go through it once because of stupid me.” Crowley looked back at the table, not wanting to meet Aziraphale’s gaze.

“You’re not stupid Crowley. I don’t think I could be in love with someone if they were stupid.”

It took Crowley a full second to process what Aziraphale had said, to feel Aziraphale place his hand on Crowley’s shoulder. He snapped his head to look at Aziraphale, and found Aziraphale looking at him with such love and intensity that Crowley could barely handle it.

“Wha- what did you just say?” Crowley had heard Aziraphale just fine, he just couldn’t trust what he had heard, could trust that in his entire existence he had wanted only one thing, and it was finally happening.

“I said I _love_ you, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s smile grew brighter when he said it.

“No, no no _no no_,” Crowley’s miserable look returned, surprising Aziraphale, “You don’t _love_ me Aziraphale, you- you _can’t_.”

Everything that Crowley had ever wanted was right _here_, was staring at him and was waiting for him to take it, but six thousand years with countless number of rejections would make anyone doubt.

Aziraphale looked almost affronted as he said, “Of _course I love you_\- why, why else would I say it?”

“I _don’t know_, maybe to distract me from your whole Falling business, or, or it’s your new demonic feelings, tempting you to do things you don’t really want.”

“_Crowley_!” Aziraphale looked and sounded offended, “Do you _really_think I would mess around with your feelings like that? That I would give you hope and then just take it away?”

Crowley almost wanted to say yes, remembering Aziraphale’s ‘you go too fast for me’ all those years ago, but didn’t want to say anything else that would upset Aziraphale. Instead he just stared at Aziraphale, miserable eyes turning ever so slightly hopeful.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale spoke slowly, and placed his hands on Crowley’s cheeks, “I have loved you since 1941, when you rescued me in that church. Now, unless I have been a demon for 78 years, I think this feeling is permanent and isn’t going anywhere.”

Crowley looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, trying to see a hint of a lie there, his heart wanting him to give in but his mind warning him of the consequences. Crowley’s eyes moved down to Aziraphale’s lips, noticing that there were only a few inches separating the two. Before he could really think or convince himself not to, Crowley closed the distance between them, crashing his lips against Aziraphale’s.

He expected Aziraphale to pull back, or to freeze under his touch, but was pleasantly surprised when he felt him give into the kiss. The kiss itself was gentle, speaking ‘I love you’ in ways that no words could ever begin to try to spell out. Aziraphale’s lips tasted like cocoa, tasted like hope and love and endless possibilities. Crowley’s hands took a life of their own as they  
placed themselves on Aziraphale’s face, placing them on his jaw as they deepened the kiss. Crowley felt his chest explode with such vibrant happiness as realized that this was finally it, the thing he had been waiting for so long. He had finally gotten what he wanted after all this time.

They both silently pulled away from each other, both breathless even though breathing wasn’t necessarily required for them.

“I love you, angel.” Crowley murmured, his eyes closed as he breathed Aziraphale’s familiar scent in.

“I love you too, my dear.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley into another kiss, one that let Crowley know that no matter what happened, no matter what the future held for them, they would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I just wanted to clarify that Beelzebub would be hesitant to do anything to Aziraphale because they know Heaven had planned to kill him, was unsuccessful, and then he willingly Fell, and so doesn't know what Aziraphale is capable of so best to try to get on his good side, no? 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as ellewrites4 - https://ellewrites4.tumblr.com/


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